


a pillar i am, upright

by thatsouthernanthem



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Anal Sex, Just...Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, ancient sparta, because it's literally just sex, hozier lyrics for titles, it's smut, the woods - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 01:39:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17992394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsouthernanthem/pseuds/thatsouthernanthem
Summary: in 441 bce, lagos & brasidas take a break from training.





	a pillar i am, upright

**Author's Note:**

> so, in writing my main fic "no peace in quiet", there's some subtext i didn't mean to write but i kept it and then this was born because why not?? 
> 
> at the agoge, and in ancient greece in general, relationships with your fellow soldiers were encouraged, because then you'd fight better to keep them safe. so...yep.
> 
> shout out to alethiometry and potsticker1234, my good friends and cheerleaders. also, potsticker1234 came up with the ship name which is "lagosidas" so tag stuff as that to make her smile :)

“Put your fucking shield up, boy!” The trainer, Danaos, barks, gesturing with his _dory._

Hefting the shield with a shake of his head and gritted teeth, Brasidas crouches low as his opponent shifts his grip on the long spear in his hand. They’ve been at it for at least twenty minutes, neither Brasidas nor the other willing to give the inch required to end it.

Raising his spear-arm to swipe sweat from his forehead, Lagos squints at him from across the makeshift arena--truly just a patch of dirt outside the _syssitia_ \--and shakes his head before mimicking Brasidas’ crouch, his fingers tightening on the wooden shaft of his spear before leaping toward Brasidas, his bare feet leaving behind clouds of dust in the dirt.

Ducking forward, Brasidas slides under his friend’s spear-arm and swings his shield into Lagos’ side, knocking the other man off his course with a stumble and a wheezing _oof_ of air leaving his lungs. Stepping back quickly, Brasidas drags in a shaky breath of air--he’s growing tired, they both are, this show of skill devolving quickly into a battle of egos until one of them gives in from exhaustion.

Lagos whirls around and clashes his spear against Brasidas’, knocking him back again and again. His arms ache and sweat drips into his eyes, blurring his vision with salt and pain that is more annoyance than anything else. Lagos presses forward again, Brasidas ducking once more and slashing at him with the spear tip, shield ready to catch Lagos’ jab.

Lagos parries his spear away, almost effortlessly, and it makes Brasidas want to growl in frustration--how is he still fighting so fine, it’s been a fucking half-hour since this started, he should be just as tired! Blinking rapidly, Brasidas misses it:

The foot against his, tripping him forward, the huff of breath against his neck as Lagos grabs his arm, flips him over. His foot is almost gentle against Brasidas’ bare chest, pinning him to the ground as the instructor calls for Lagos’ victory.

“Good fight,” his friend murmurs as he reaches for Brasidas’ arm, tugging him up off the dirt. He’s smirking at him, his eyes drifting to take him in, in all of his dirty, sweaty glory. Stomach flip-flopping, Brasidas drops Lagos’ hand, reaching down for his forgotten spear.

“Call it a night,” Danaos calls from the sidelines, already moving across the yard to correct a child’s stance.

They join the other older recruits, the ones at the end of the _paídes_ stage of training, in quickly dipping in the Eurotas, washing away the dirt and sweat from today’s exercises. As Brasidas scrubs at a bloody, scraped spot on his arm, he chews on his lip, thinking.

“Daydreaming about the day we don’t have to do this anymore?” Lagos grins at him, water dripping from his dark hair and beard, stretching his arms over his head. Brasidas is distracted by the rivulets of water that travel down his chest, then shakes his head and snorts.

“This is Sparta, friend. It’s never over. I am, however, ready to just _be_ Spartan.” He splashes water across his face and turns to grab his _phoinikis,_ the red cloak he’s to guard with his life.

Watching the other young men head back toward the barracks and _syssitia_ , Lagos waits until most of them enter for dinner before drawing a finger along the cut of Brasidas’ hip with a smirk. “Come on.”

Wrapping himself in the _phoinikis_ , Brasidas follows him, mouth going dry as Lagos leads him away from the _agoge_ and into the woods. No one would miss them for now, not with training still happening, then dinner...and if they were to miss dinner? Ah, well, it would be worth it, Brasidas thinks, a smile growing on his face.

Lagos stops at a small clearing, surveying the area and kicking rocks out from under him. He lays his cloak on the ground and gestures for Brasidas to hand his over, layering it on top of his own when given it. He turns back to Brasidas with a wolfish grin. “Now, tell me the truth: did you lose on purpose?”

Rolling his eyes with a snort, Brasidas holds both hands up. “Now why would I do that?”

“Maybe,” Lagos murmurs, his voice dropping lower as he comes forward to slide one hand against Brasidas’ throat, dragging his other thumb over the jut of his hip bone. “Maybe because you like it when I fuck you into the ground.”

He shudders under Lagos’ hands, at the dark growl of the words in his ear. He grips the wrist of the hand at his neck and pulls back just enough to quirk an eyebrow at his friend. “And if I do?”

Lagos jerks forward, his fingers tightening at Brasidas’ throat as he crushes his lips against his, a war of tongues, lips and teeth; a constant fight for dominance between the two of them--a fight that was already won on the training ground. Lagos’ hands go to his shoulders, urging him to kneel on the cloaks before him.

The ground is hard under the wool, small pebbles and leaves poking through the fabric, but Brasidas pays them no mind as he settles onto his knees. Tucking the fingers of one hand into his _perizoma_ , he runs his palm over the front of the fabric with enough pressure to feel Lagos’ cock twitch under his hand. Lagos runs his hand over Brasidas’ chin, the short beard there, before sliding his fingers into his hair, tugging his head back with a firm grip. “No teasing tonight.”

As a soldier, Brasidas knows a command when he hears one--even when it is mangled with a growl of need, of want. With a quick nod, he leans forward, the hand in his hair loosening enough to allow him movement, and he tugs the small clothes down Lagos’ hips, freeing his heavy erection from its confines. Swallowing hard, Brasidas pushes the fabric down his toned legs, helping him step out of it before gripping Lagos’ hips tightly.

He leans forward, eyes snapping up to Lagos’--his already dark eyes _darker_ with lust. He drags his tongue along the underside of his cock, swirling it around the tip, groaning at the salty taste of him, before taking him fully into his mouth. Above him, Lagos groans, his hand tightening in Brasidas’ hair, hips thrusting shallowly into his mouth. Taking Lagos’ cock in his hand, Brasidas laps again at the underside, paying attention to the thick vein that runs there, using the barest graze of teeth that sends Lagos’ hips snapping forward, making him yank at Brasidas’ hair. He groans lowly at the shock of pain that runs down his spine and he leans forward again, his hands gripping at Lagos’ ass, to take his cock back into his mouth, desperate for more.

His groan is muffled by the hard flesh in his mouth, but he cannot help it--this is something Brasidas can’t get enough of: the heavy panting of Lagos above him, the tightening of fingers in his hair, the taste and feel of Lagos’ cock on his tongue, the velvety hardness against his lips. His own cock twitches against the fabric of his _perizoma_ , almost painful, but he keeps his hands at Lagos’ hips, concentrating instead of the sloppy sound of his mouth being fucked.

The hand in his hair tightens hard, making his scalp tingle with sharp pin pricks of pain, yanking his head back and Brasidas whines at the loss. Blinking up at Lagos, he finds the other man panting, his jaw tight and twitching. Letting go of Brasidas’ hair, he swipes his thumb over Brasidas’ spit-slick lips, moving to kneel before him. “This will be over entirely too soon,” he whispers, his voice a growl, “if I let you continue.”

Wrapping his fingers around the back of Brasidas’ neck, he kisses him, hard. Brasidas opens his lips under Lagos’, accepting his invading tongue with a groan in the back of his throat. Pulling away, Lagos guides Brasidas to lay on his back against the cloaks, making quick work of his small clothes.

Brasidas hisses, shivering as the cooler night air hits his heated flesh. Lagos leans in to kiss him again, his hand reaching between them to stroke Brasidas’ cock--his callus-roughened hand feeling like a gift from the gods against his sensitive skin. His hand pulls away after a few, quick, expert twists of his wrist and Lagos lets his hand drift further, stroking a thumb over Brasidas’ entrance, making him groan.

“I grabbed, hold on--” Lagos mutters, reaching under the cloaks to grab a small jar of oil, scrambling to untwist the top. Dragging his fingers through the oil, he jerks his chin at Brasidas: “Roll over.”

Swallowing hard, Brasidas does as he is told, folding his arms in front of him, bracing his forehead against them, his ass in air, and he groans, deep in his chest, when Lagos presses his oiled fingers against his entrance, pushing against the resistance to slide a finger inside him, then another, scissoring them to begin stretching him.

His thighs tremble, even at this small act. His cock is painfully hard against his stomach, twitching when Lagos adds a third finger to the hilt, both of them groaning. Lagos leans over, scraping his teeth against a scar on Brasidas’ lower back, his free hand stroking the flesh of Brasidas’ ass.

“Ready?” Lagos whispers, dragging his tongue along the scar and Brasidas shudders under his ministrations.

“Gods,” he groans, his voice hoarse and cracking. “Yes, just _fuck me_.”

Lagos’ answering chuckle is a puff of hot air against Brasidas’ spine. His fingers curl inside of him, drawing a shaking moan out of Brasidas. His thighs tremble when Lagos pulls his fingers away, soon replaced by the thick press of his cock. Pushing up on his arms, Brasidas braces against the push and burn; Lagos grips Brasidas’ hips, pulling him back onto his length, curling forward to press his lips against his back, snapping forward with a strangled groan.

Falling back to his forearms, Brasidas cries out as Lagos fills him to the hilt, the muscles in his back twitching at the sensation of being filled, so completely. Lagos stills to give him time to adjust, trailing his mouth along the curve of his shoulder blade as Brasidas inhales shakily through his nose and out his mouth.

After a moment, Lagos murmurs something indistinguishable against his skin, reaching around his hip to take Brasidas’ cock in his hand, stroking it slowly, his thumb swiping over the head. Brasidas shudders under him, eyes squeezing shut when Lagos begins to move behind him, his strokes and thrusts working in perfect tandem.

Lagos drags himself almost completely out of Brasidas before snapping his hips forward, back into him. Each thrust drags another incoherent curse or moan from his lips, as each stroke of Lagos’ hand on his cock makes him shudder again. Lagos circles Brasidas’ length at the base, holding tight as he shifts his positioning and thrusts deeper, harder, hitting that spot deep inside of Brasidas that makes his vision white out.

For a moment all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears, then as it clears, he can hear and feel Lagos’ deep chuckle as he grabs Brasidas by the hips with both hands, snapping him back onto his cock, hard and fast.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Brasidas grits out, pushing back up on all fours, fingers tight in the fabric under him. His knees ache, his lungs feel woefully inadequate to keep him breathing, and all he can really feel is the thickness of Lagos inside of him, filling him and hitting that spot deep inside that makes him feel like he could see the gods.

His hand scrabbles for purchase under him, digging into the cloaks and the dirt underneath as Lagos keeps moving, thrusting faster, quick snaps of his hips, the air filled with his mumbles and moans that mix with Brasidas’. Reaching under them again, Lagos grabs Brasidas’ cock once more, his hand moving faster, disjointed now as his thrusts become sloppier and sloppier and finally he stills, hips pressed flush against Brasidas’ ass, curling over his back to bite down on his shoulder and groan as he comes, filling him with his seed.

Brasidas wobbles on weak knees, still painfully hard, as Lagos leans into him. He scrapes his teeth along the bite mark he left on Brasidas’ shoulder before sliding out of him and rolling him over.

He pounces on Brasidas’ cock as soon as he’s on his back--tongue laving over the weeping head, his hand wrapping around the velvety skin and aching hardness. Brasidas grinds his hands into his eyes, desperate to keep from coming instantly, desperate to enjoy this moment a little longer.

Lagos swallows him down, completely, his cock touching the back of his throat and Brasidas shouts, his hands falling to tangle in Lagos’ hair, hips thrusting subconsciously up into his mouth. Pulling back, Lagos looks up at Brasidas, who nearly comes just from looking at his wrecked face, red and swollen lips wet with spit, wrapped around the purpling head of his cock and with one last jerk of his wrist and his lips sliding down the length, Brasidas comes, hard.

His lungs stop working, his thighs shake and everything goes white again. Slowly, his vision comes back, his hearing, the feeling in his limbs. He blinks, dragging in a long and ragged breath and looks down his body to see Lagos smiling softly at him, stroking his leg gently. He bites down on his lip and leans forward, angling his body over Brasidas’, and kisses him softly. Pulling back, he quirks an eyebrow and strokes the short beard growing in on Brasidas’ face. “You alright? That was...pretty intense.”

Brasidas laughs, his chest aching with the intensity of what they just shared. “Y-yeah,” he swallows hard and threads his fingers through Lagos’ fluffier hair, tugging him down to rest against his shoulder. He’s still catching his breath as he presses kisses against Lagos’ temple. “‘S good,” he manages to mumble out. His legs ached. “I don’t think I can walk though.”

“Flatterer,” Lagos runs his fingers over Brasidas’ abdomen, making the muscles jump as he tries to squirm away from tickling fingers. “Luckily, there’s still time to lay here.”

The forest is still, save for their breathing and the rustle of wind through the leaves. Eventually, Brasidas nods off, warm in the arms of his best friend, comfortable even on hard and rocky ground because he’s pressed against Lagos’ warmer body, and safe there.

Minutes, or hours? later, Lagos presses his mouth against Brasidas’, waking him with a slow lick at his lips, the warm slide of his tongue against his. Brasidas groans into it, his fingers clutching at Lagos’ shoulders when he pulls away.

“We have to get back,” Lagos whispers, pulling himself out of the embrace to grab his _perizoma,_ and Brasidas’, giving them a shake to dislodge a leaf or two. The sun has half-way disappeared behind the mountains, giving everything a hazy, shady look and Brasidas shivers as a breeze rolls over him.

“I’m going to win tomorrow,” Brasidas promises, pulling his cloak up off the ground to shake it out.

Doing the same, Lagos smirks at him and as he clips pins the cloak in place, shrugs languidly. “You keep telling yourself that.”


End file.
